


The Gift

by Talithax



Category: Law & Order: UK
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Gen, Hope, POV First Person, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Survivor's Guilt, an unexpected, unexplainable event saves Ronnie from breaking the seal on the scotch bottle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Ever so slightly saccharine, and possibly even a little sniffly, but... the general idea wouldn't leave me alone and this is what eventuated.  
> Self beta'd. Narrated by Ronnie.

=======  
The Gift  
=======

*  
Powerscroft Road, Hackney, Greater London E5 0  
16 June, 8.20pm  
*

 

Another year older.

Another day closer to the grave.

Just… Another day. Period.

It really doesn’t matter what you call it.

In fact, all that currently matters is the constant struggle and the bottle that dominates it.

The ever-present, if not physically then definitely mentally, bottle.

My captor. My hobby. My sole focus of attention.

Will I give in? Should I just wave the white flag of defeat and be done with it? Do I really want to? Would it even change anything? Does it taste as good as I remember it? As bad as things might currently feel, do I really want to travel down that path again? Would anyone even care?

Do I even care?

Just a mouthful…

Just one mouthful. What harm could it possibly do? I mean, really? Maybe I won’t even like it. Maybe it’ll do absolutely nothing for me and I’ll finally realise that I’m actually free, that the bottle – both the alcohol itself and the desire to lose myself in it – no longer has any hold over me.

Only…

What if I do like it? What if one mouthful is nowhere near enough and I do actually discover that, just as before, life really does look – more bearable – brighter when you’ve got a bottle of scotch in you? Then what?

I…

I wish I knew the answers. Hell, I’d give anything to know them, but I don’t. I just don’t.

All I know is that, with an intensity I haven’t experienced since that hideous, numbing night of the funeral, I crave a drink. It’s my birthday, I have a brand new bottle of scotch sitting on the coffee table within easy reach and no one around to stop me from reaching for it, yet… still I hesitate. My AA chip, the bronze medallion with the Roman numeral for six long, hard fought years engraved in the centre of the pyramid, lies next to the bottle but unlike the thought of the scotch itself tonight it holds little sway over me. Sure, I take a sense of pride in having achieved it, but right at this exact moment it’s cold, meaningless comfort. A cheap medallion versus the promise of obliteration and the ability, however briefly, to simply switch off. To be completely honest it’s not even a close call.

Tonight more than ever I want to forget.

I want to forget that, albeit entirely by choice, I’m sitting alone in my dimly lit lounge room while the sun still shines brightly outside and those I care about blithely go on with their lives, blissfully ignorant to the lies I’ve told in order to ensure I’m here, right where something in my mind has decided I need to be. To Sarah, who wanted to bring Charlie around and cook me a birthday tea, I used the tried and true excuse of being snowed under at work, while Nat, who went so far as to invite me around to her place for dinner with her sons, I used the excuse of getting to spend some time with my daughter and grandson. As much appeal as both options might have had, I couldn’t accept either of them for fear of…

Well. Let’s just say for fear of not being particularly charming company to be around, and leave it at that.

I want to forget that on this day five years ago my new partner, a young man who I was still coming to terms with being partnered with and trying to make my mind up about, somehow found out that it was my birthday and landed on my doorstep with Chinese take-away just as I was about to give in and crack open the seal on the scotch bottle.

I want to forget that the young man who went on to become not just the best partner I’ve ever had but also my best friend is now dead.

I just…

I just want it, these feelings of loss and misery, to stop.

Blinking back the tears I can suddenly feel welling in my eyes, I reach with an unsteady hand for the scotch just as Lucky, with a trill of greeting, strolls into the room and, with his tail held straight up in the air, makes a purposeful beeline for the coffee table. Neatly jumping up onto it, he blinks golden eyes at me before, with another chirrup, reaching out a paw and, with a deft swipe, sending my AA chip flying off the table and straight under the armchair.

“Oi!” I exclaim as, more annoyed at having my pity-party interrupted than amused by the cat’s random antics, I – solely because I know that if I don’t do it now I’m unlikely to ever do it – get down on the floor and crawl over to the armchair in order to retrieve the chip. “What was that for, huh?”

No doubt entertained by my reaction – ‘Oh. Look. The miserable, no fun human I find myself co-inhabiting with these days is down on all fours. How positively hysterical.’ – Lucky, all the time purring happily to himself, meanders along the edge of the coffee table so as to get a closer look and peers down at me intently.

“Yeah, well, just remember who it is that feeds you,” I mutter, still failing to see the humour in the moment as I reach under the armchair and grope around the carpet for the chip. Not finding it, and feeling more in need of a drink than I did a moment ago, I flop down onto my stomach and – with all the grace, I’m sure, of an arthritic walrus -- stretch my hand out as far as it’ll go. Despite the medallion not providing it’s usual crutch tonight, I’m now determined to retrieve it and can’t believe Lucky somehow managed to flick it as far as he did. “I’m going to remember this,” I grumble as, my fingers finally straying across the chip, I pull it out from under the armchair and heave myself back up onto the sofa.

The medallion safely held in the palm of my hand, I gaze at Lucky as he now sits, his tail curled primly around the bottle, and realise with surprise that for the moment at least the spell has actually been broken. I don’t feel any more happy or hopeful than I did a second ago, and the inner turmoil-slash-debate over wanting a drink is still whirring in my head, but… It’s quieter. I have the tangible evidence of my long struggle for sobriety in my hand and maybe…

Just maybe, it will be enough to get me through another night.

Only…

It feels different somehow. A little larger and the markings, familiar to the point of almost being worn down, feel… odd… under my finger tips.

Surprised by this, but putting it down to my imagination simply playing tricks on me, I hold my hand out towards the light of the lamp and slowly uncurl my fingers to get a look at it. What I see lying on the palm of my hand startles me though and, as a raw, shuddery gasp escapes my lips, I quickly fold my fingers back over it, convinced that I have be hallucinating.

No. It…

It can’t be.

The inevitable has taken place and I’m finally losing it, that’s all.

It has to be.

Too shocked by what it is I thought I saw to think straight let alone move, I ignore the sound of the doorbell as it rings out through the house and continue to stare blankly at my balled up fist. I know I should, that, really, I have to, but I don’t want to look again in case…

It’s real?

It’s not real?

I…

I don’t even know what I want.

A loud tap on the window rousing me slightly, I numbly turn my head to stare in its direction as the voice of my new partner somehow manages to both get through to me and get me moving.

“Hey, Ronnie…”

I like Sam Casey well enough. He’s not Matt, and nor will he ever be, but I can think of worse officers to be partnered with. In fact, on my better days I actually find that I’m rather fond of him. As to just what it is he thinks he’s doing here though is anyone’s guess. Last I heard he had a date tonight.

“I know you’re in there, so… C’mon and open up.”

Christ. Talk about déjà vu. Maybe it’s official and I really am losing it, but unless my memory is playing tricks on me I could swear that’s exactly what Matt said all those years ago.

Autopilot guiding my every movement, I reach the front door and, all the time with my hand curled tight around just whatever it is in the palm of it, slowly open it.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Sam queries with a warm, open smile as, brandishing a take-away bag at me, he steps inside and, despite never having been here before, heads straight along the passageway towards the kitchen. “I’ve got Chinese,” he adds over his shoulder as, feeling more and more as though – this simply can not be happening, that without even being able to remember having taken a drink that I must just be drunk already – I’m falling down the rabbit hole, I continue to stand flat footed by the front door. “I’d ask if that’s okay but, well, as I pretty much know by now that you’ll eat anything, I’ll just settle instead for hoping that you haven’t eaten already…”

He said that too. Perhaps not word for word, but the sentiment and easy-going confidence was the same.

This…

This can not be happening. Seriously.

Shutting the door, I make my way into the kitchen on legs that don’t really feel as though they’re connected to my body and watch with mounting disbelief and shortness of breath as Lucky strolls up to Sam and rubs around his legs as though – despite never having met him before – greeting a long lost friend. I then, as he scoops the cat up with a look of pleasure on his face and cradles him – exactly as Matt used to and which, the one time I attempted it, resulted in blood dripping from my fingers and a pissed off cat bolting from the room and hiding for hours under the bed – like a baby, make some sort of strangled, pathetic whimpering sound and bolt from the room.

For the complete lack of anywhere better to go, I lurch into the lounge room and come to a dithery, dead end stop by the window with Sam, sans cat, hot on my heels.

“Ronnie?” he prompts gently as, all the time looking at me – as though he’s weighing up whether to call an ambulance to cart me off to the nearest psych ward or not – closely, he walks over to the window. “You okay?”

Am I okay? Well, no. Not really.

“I…” Shaking my head, I reluctantly lift my hand and, with my fingers still curled tightly closed, hold it out towards Sam. “I know you’re probably thinking I’m mad and, hey, if it helps I’m thinking along those same lines myself,” I murmur, the words falling out of my mouth in a rush as, one way or another, I suddenly want to know just what it is I’m clutching in my palm, “but… Just tell me what you see when I open my hand, yeah?”

Sam, his expression as doubtful as it is curious (and with just a lingering tinge of ‘what have I gotten myself in for here’ about it), nods his acceptance readily enough and draws the drapes back to let more light into the room. “Go on then. Show me what you’ve got.”

Taking a deep breath to brace myself with, I slowly, hesitantly uncurl my fingers and for the second time in probably as many minutes simply can not believe what I’m seeing. What, hopefully, Sam is seeing too.

It…

It just can’t be.

I know what it looks like, but it simply can’t be. I’m just a crazy old man whose eyes are playing tricks on him and that’s just all there is to it.

“Well?” I demand shakily as Sam lifts his gaze from the… medallion… in my hand and gives me a strange look.

“It’s a medallion of some sort,” he replies with a small shrug. “Actually…” He leans forward for a closer look as I struggle to keep my hand from shaking. “You know, it reminds me of the one Matt Devlin used to wear…”

Hearing it – proof that I’m not the only one seeing it – proving to be just too much, I back away from Sam and, my gaze never deviating from the silver medallion, flop down onto the sofa. “It… It’s a medallion of St Michael,” I whisper, finally dragging my eyes away from it and looking over at Sam, “and… Christ, Sam. It doesn’t just look like Matt’s as… I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but… It… is… Matt’s.”

There. I’ve said it. I’ve given voice to what I immediately thought when I saw what it was I’d pulled out from under the armchair. I still don’t believe it and have no idea how it got there, but…

It’s his.

I just know it is.

“What?” Taking a seat on the coffee table directly in front of me, Sam looks me in the eye, his expression – one small step off the one you give when you think the person you’re talking to has every chance of being off their rocker – sympathetic. “I thought it went missing from his effects at the hospital,” he continues matter-of-factly. “In fact, I distinctly remember you going on… and on… about it for days.”

“I… did, and it did,” I respond, reluctantly handing the precious medallion over to Sam so he can have a closer look at it. “I’m telling you though, it’s his. I’m not saying I know how it come to be here, or that I’ve suddenly developed a belief in ghosts or what-have-you, but the medallion in your hand belonged to Matt Devlin. See the silver hallmarks on the back?” I turn the medallion over in Sam’s hand and wait for him to take in what I’m pointing to before adding, “He showed them to me once because it’s actually made by an Irish silversmith and is quite rare. His mother picked it up for a song at some charity shop and when she went to the jewellers to buy a chain he told her what it was really worth and tried to buy it from her. She wouldn’t have a bar of it though ‘cos St Michael is the patron saint of coppers, see, and she wanted to give it to Matty when he graduated from Hendon.” Trailing off, I smile weakly and shrug. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s his. I know it is.”

“Okay. It’s Matt’s,” Sam agrees, any suspicion he may be feeling about my mental state continuing to be kept well hidden as he hands the medallion back to me. “How’d it end up here though? Given that you ranted on about it long enough I can remember having a look at the paperwork myself and the hospital owned up to having somehow lost it.”

“I wish I knew,” I murmur simply as, surprised at the sense of relief I feel to have the medallion back in my hand, I close my fingers tightly around it. “Seriously, Sammy. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You didn’t perhaps, unconsciously and solely with good intent of course, take it from…”

“No,” I interrupt Sam’s clearly hesitant – ‘I don’t really want to, but it has to be asked’ – question and give an adamant shake of my head. “The hospital, they… They listed it in his effects, so they obviously had it, but when I went with Niamh to pick them up it was gone. I, as you already know, raised merry hell and demanded they tear the place apart looking for it, but… it never turned up.”

“Until now…”

“Yeah. Until now…”

“It just… popped up?”

“You could say that.” I gesture at the carpet in front of the armchair. “I found it under the chair.”

“Yeah?” Sam glances at the chair before, no doubt in the hope I’ll just get it out already, giving me an expectant look.

“Mmm… Lucky had knocked my AA token down there and when I got down to get it… uh… this is what I found instead.”

“The token is down there though,” Sam states, pointing down at the carpet. “I can see it from here.”

“But…” Following the line of Sam’s finger, I see that – curiouser and curiouser – he’s right, that the bronze chip is indeed just lying there by the foot of the chair, and shake my head. “I swear it wasn’t there before,” I add, the disbelief I’m feeling coming through loud and clear in my voice as I scoop it up and place it on the coffee table. “If… If I’d seen it I never would have had to have got down on my hands and knees and reach so far back under the armchair. It… It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh well.” Sam shrugs and, his apparent ability to willingly accept the unknown coming as a welcome surprise, flashes me a genuinely unbothered looking smile. “However it may have got there, I’m sure his sister will be pleased to have it back.”

“She…” Emotion once again threatening to get the better of me, I swallow hard and gaze down at the medallion. “She wanted me to have it,” I state quietly, the few simple words not even coming close to conveying just how much this means to me. “She… She said that as St Michael was the patron saint of coppers and I was a copper, it would have been what Matty would have wanted…”

“In that case…” His smile broadening, Sam unclasps the silver chain he’s wearing from around his neck and removes the simple Celtic Cross hanging from it. “This’ll have to do until I can get to a store tomorrow to buy you a proper one,” he continues, holding his hand out and waiting for me to place the medallion in it.

Taken aback by his gesture, I shake my head and keep a hold on it. “You don’t have to do…”

“I know I don’t, but I want to…” Cutting me off, Sam takes the medallion from my hand and quickly attaches it to the chain before handing it back. “I know I’m not Matt, and nor would I ever pretend to be, but I am your partner and, I don’t know about you, but there’s a part of me that thinks this is rather fitting…” Pausing, he gives a small, possibly slightly embarrassed shrug. “Besides, just call it a birthday present, yeah…”

Unable to argue with his comforting logic, I nod. “In that case…” Doing the chain up around my neck, I feel the medallion rest lightly against my chest and… As stupid as I know it sounds, a curious sense of calm settles over me and within seconds it feels as though I’ve always worn it. “Thanks…” I whisper, knowing that I don’t have to say anything else, that the one simple, heartfelt word states all that I’m feeling better than a hundred words ever could. I’ve never been one to have any particular opinion on the thought of there being an afterlife. Now though, be it clutching at straws or whatever, I can’t help but think, maybe, just maybe, Matt’s still out there somewhere and, simply put, the thought makes me happier than a drink ever could

Standing up, Sam places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I know our job is to deal in cold, hard facts,” he murmurs, “but regardless of how the medallion found its way onto your floor I think it’s pretty clear Matt wanted you to have it. So… Just accept the gift you’ve been given and make the most of it, I say.”

“Yeah… I think I will.” Giving Sam’s hand a small pat, I stand up with what feels like the first genuine smile since Matt’s death stretching across my lips and tilt my head in the direction of the kitchen. “Now, c’mon, enough of this. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had a date tonight.”

“Yeah, I did.” He shrugs and graces me with another one of his easy smiles. “As she’s not the one having a birthday though I decided to take a raincheck.”

“In that case, let’s eat. I’m suddenly starving.”

Looking relieved that what can really only be described as the supernatural component of the evening is hopefully over, Sam nods and begins to walk out of the room. “The restaurant gave me chopsticks, but if you don’t know how…”

Having heard the comment before and no longer feeling bothered by this slightly strange yet wonderfully reassuring turn of events, I laugh. “Don’t faint with shock or anything, but I know how to use them.”

“You do?” Sam mutters with obvious surprise as he enters the kitchen and starts to unpack the food containers from the plastic bag. “Uh… Sorry. I just thought…” Clearly wishing he’d never started this particular topic of conversation, he trails off and busies himself with the take-away.

My mood feeling as though it is quite literally lifting by the second, I laugh again and retrieve two plates from the cupboard. “That’s exactly what he said.”

“Matt?”

“Yeah…” In this very kitchen and on my birthday too, but I keep this to myself in case, not wanting to push my luck, it freaks Sam out.

“And how’d you set him straight?” Sam prompts as he takes the plates from me and places them on the table.

I smile. “By telling him that I’d had many more years of shovelling food into my gob to perfect it than he had.”

“In that case, I’m prepared to be astonished by your prowess.” Laughing, Sam hands a paper wrapped pair of chopsticks over to me and sits down at the table. “Tell me about him?”

“You’d have liked him…” Taking a seat, I smile at Sam and hope that he’s comfortable as this is going to take a while. “Everyone liked Matt…”

~ end ~


End file.
